


Dogfight

by ProjectClesker



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cuckolding, F/M, Fantasizing, Fighting, One-Shot, Rough Sex, kindof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 00:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProjectClesker/pseuds/ProjectClesker
Summary: When Sansa's husband brings her to a cage fight, she doesn't think there will be anything there for her, that is until she see's Sandor Clegane. She spends the rest of the night thinking about a man other than her husband.





	Dogfight

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any typos or misspellings. I hope you enjoy!

Sansa tried not to let sleep take her as she relaxed in her large, claw foot tub, but the warm water infused with lavender oils was making it difficult. She hardly ever felt as relaxed as she did when she was taking a hot bath, especially when she was the only one home. Usually the large, chic penthouse located on the top floor of the tallest tower in The Vale was filled with her husband’s personal entourage, but for the most of that day Sansa was able to enjoy her own company. Well hers, and Petyr’s most loyal guard, Lothor whom he’s always insisted on leaving with her. He didn’t like to leave her completely alone. She didn’t mind, Lothor was quiet and polite which made it easy to forget about his presence.

She tried not to feel too disappointed when she heard the door to the penthouse click open down the hall from the bathroom. She knew it was Petyr as the sounds of his entourage followed him into the place, the rumble of noise was slowly filling her head as her serenity left her. The sounds of low conversation followed by footsteps headed towards the bathroom warned Sansa of her husband’s impending appearance, giving her time to mentally prepare herself. The door to the room opened slowly, Sansa craned her neck to look back at the man now standing in the way of her relaxation. She smiled at him as he looked her over, watching his eyes flick from her face, to her semi submerged chest down to her long legs which she had propped up over the side of the tub. 

“Well, don’t you look relaxed, Sweetling.” He purred, leaning against the frame of the door with his hands in his pockets, giving her a small smirk. Sansa marveled at the stylish man. At how, even though he stood at her height he still carried himself like a much taller, much more imposing man. Sansa appreciated the meticulous effort he put into his appearance, especially considering she was basically a trophy wife, she liked that he looked handsome as she hung off his arm. She nodded her head and sunk into the water slightly, resuming her relaxed position. She heard him walk into the room approaching the tub, not bothering to close the door behind himself. He stood over her, “Is that any way to greet your husband?” he was teasing her but held a slight edge in his voice. A small warning that she was very used to by now. She rolled her eyes. 

“I’m all wet Petyr…” she whined softly, with a smirk on her lips “I don’t want to ruin your suit.” 

He bent down on one knee, his face now nearing hers as he shook his head, “tsk tsk, you know that I prefer you when you’re nice and wet Sansa.” His hand gently circled her neck and pulled her towards him, the sounds of water sloshing echoed in the bathroom as she followed his direction, “You should never be afraid of greeting me, no matter how wet you are.” His warm breath tickled her face now only inches from his. 

“Forgive me.” She whispered, slowly closing the gap between the two of them, taking his bottom lip into to her mouth, suckling gently. He deepened the kiss with a small groan, his tongue now exploring her mouth as she kissed him back with the amount of enthusiasm that he expected from her. They broke apart slowly, “Welcome home. I’ve missed you.” She whispered.

“Did you?” he asked, still somewhat breathless.

“Mhmm, you were gone all day, I only had Lothor for company.” She said sitting back into the tub, watching his eyes rake over her chest again, slowly bringing the hand that still lingered on her neck down further towards the two, perky breasts. 

“Well, that’s no fun, is it?” he teased as his ringed fingers dipped into the water, beginning to lazily circle one of her dusty pink nipples. She bit her lip, shaking her head ‘no’. He pinched the nipple between his fingers, applying enough pressure to make her moan softly. “I have a feeling that you will have a lot more fun tonight with what I have planned.” 

“Does it involve you licking my cunt and then feeding me lemon cakes?” Sansa smiled sweetly as he continued to tease her.

Petyr chuckled, his eyes sparkling at her, “Oral and lemon cakes, is that the only reason you married me sweet girl?” he joked, they both knew that one of Petyr’s favorite things to do was lick his wife to orgasm repeatedly. 

“No,” Sansa moaned again, his skilled fingers now working on her other nipple, pinching and teasing her until they both stood erect, “I also married you for your money, Petyr.” She teased him, eliciting another chuckle from the older man. Smirking at her, he removed his hand from her chest and rested it on the side of the tub. 

“Have you ever been to a dogfight Sansa?” he asked her. Her eyes grew wide.

“I don’t want to see dogs fight,” She said with a small hitch in her voice, growing cold at the idea. She loved dogs. She probably loved dogs more than she loved most people, and she definitely loved dogs more than she loved Petyr. “and I don’t like that you want to go to a dogfight either.” 

“No, Sansa, no dogs. Just men who might as well be dogs.” His voice was teasing, enjoying her confusion. He liked being the one who knew more than his young wife. 

“Like a boxing match?” she asked carefully. 

“Somewhat, however it will be much more interesting,” He adjusted himself to sit closer to the tub, laying both of his arms over the side as he leaned closer to her, “No gloves, no rounds, no rules. Just a fight until a winner emerges.” He said, and Sansa knew she couldn’t hide the disgust that crossed her face. He chuckled at her, “that’s part of the fun dear. I’ve got a lot of money on one of the contenders tonight, an absolute animal of a man.” 

“And you want to watch him beat the living hells out of someone?” Sansa wasn’t fond of the implication. She didn’t like watching most sports or physical activities that caused people to get hurt, it was too much for her. She remembered how anxious watching her brother Robb’s wrestling matches, or watching her sister Arya’s fencing practices made her, no matter how safe they were. 

“I want to watch him beat the living hells out of someone while accompanied by my wife.” Petyr’s voice had a finalizing tone to it. This wasn’t a request. She bit her lip and nodded her head, already nervous about how the night was going to go. She watched her husband’s eyes soften slightly, he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose, “Be a good girl tonight, and I’ll buy you something nice, okay?” 

Sansa kept herself from rolling her eyes at his bargain. She had plenty of nice things from him, and she didn’t really need more, but she knew that she wasn’t going to win this argument, so she smiled and nodded. 

“Good.” He seemed pleased with himself, “Get ready, we’ll get dinner in a couple of hours and then head to the fight.” Standing up, he moved to the open bathroom door before looking back at her, “Wear that silver thing I like, Sweetling.” 

Sansa sighed as he left her alone, sinking back into the now lukewarm water. 

 

The young redhead stiffened as she walked into the loud and smoky warehouse her husband had taken her to, located in an area she had never been to, just outside of The Vale. She held tightly onto Petyr’s arm as they walked through the cheering crowd of well-dressed, seedy looking characters. She let him guide her to a row of seats directly in front of the octagonal cage containing two men who were in the possess of circling each in the center of the room. The deafening sound of cheers and boos echoed around the room as Sansa felt Petyr’s arm slip around her waist. She peeled her eyes away from the fight, looking at the man now a few inches shorter than her due to the heels she wore. His eyes snaked down her body, appraising the short, silver dress with the plunging neckline that he loved so much. His eyes met hers he gave her a quick kiss. 

She flinched when she heard a loud, gruff voice a few rows behind her yell “Kill him!”, her eyes ripped away from Petyr’s and landed on the fighters. One of the men, already covered in sweat and blood, swung at the other hitting him square in the jaw. She then watched him grab a fist full of the other man’s hair, bringing his knee up into his face repeatedly. She stiffened looked at Petyr. “Is he allowed to grab his hair?!” she half yelled due to the noise the move was eliciting from the crowd.

“No rules Sweetling.” He reminded her, making her shake her head.

“There’s no honor in a fight like that!”

Petyr rolled his eyes, “Ever the Stark, aren’t you?” He asked without expecting a response, “You do realize that your name is Baelish now, don’t you?”

Sansa didn’t answer, looking away from him and towards the fight. The man who was kneed in the face so many times was now laying on the ground limply, his face swollen covered in blood from the attack, but that didn’t stop the winner from delivering a few more kicks to the downed man. She shook her head.

“Sit down sweetling.” Petyr pulled her down into the chair next to his, planting his hand on her thigh, “These are volunteer fights, don’t be so worried.” 

Sansa didn’t look convinced as she sat down. She was disappointed that she couldn’t get out of the evening’s festivities, but when Petyr insisted, she knew better than to argue. She felt her husband’s arm around her waist again, pulling her to sit closer to him as he watched the fight intensely. 

“Where is your guy?” she asked, wondering what kind of man he had bet his money on. Petyr was a smart gambler and she had no doubt that he picked a good fighter.

“He’s not up yet, but I’ll point him out. He’s an animal.”

Sansa tried not to look too uncomfortable at the excitement in Petyr’s voice, she knew her husband wasn’t a violent man himself, he delegated that type of thing to others who were all too willing to accept his money in return. The eagerness she heard in his voice put her off, she didn’t usually see the uglier side of him, he preferred to keep her dressed pretty, taking her to nice restaurants and events to show her off, and show off his wealth and power to her in return. She couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted her here of all places tonight.

They watched a few more fights, the amount of blood in the room was so great that the redhead could smell a tinge of copper in the air. It wasn’t too long after the limp form of a previous fighter was dragged off the mat before Sansa felt her husband’s hand grip her hip. She looked over to him before looking in the direction of his pointed finger.

“There he is!”

Sansa’s eyes widened when they landed on the man her husband was pointing at, entering the room from across the warehouse. He was massive. He towered over everyone in the room, muscles large and firm, she could see the outline of his defined torso under his tight wife-beater. He had long black hair that was pulled back into a bun on the back of his head. He already looked sweaty. She watched as he got closer to the ring, noticing the large, hideous scar covering half of his face. She gasped without meaning to, eliciting a chuckle from the man sitting beside her.

“Horrible scar isn’t it?” he asked, reading her mind, “His brother gave it to him when he was a child, shoved his face into a fireplace for playing with a toy of his.”

“That’s terrible!” Sansa tore her eyes away from the massive man to look at Petyr, “His own brother?” 

“They’re not close. In fact, that’s exactly who he’ll be fighting tonight.”

Sansa frowned before looking at the fighter again, “That doesn’t seem right…” she said. She felt herself pulled towards Petyr in a quick motion, his lips planting a small kiss on her cheek.

“Don’t fret Sweetling, this fight is a long time coming. People have wanted to see Sandor and Gregor Clegane go at it for years, their rivalry is legendary, they’re calling it ‘Cleganebowl’.”

Sansa felt sadness creep up into her heart, hating the idea of siblings hating each other so much that they would fight for amusement of rich patrons. She thought of Robb and Jon, or herself and her sister Arya… She shook her head, deciding not to tell Petyr about her worries, he only ever reacts to her sensibilities with condescending remarks. Instead she decided to point out a possible flaw in her husband’s choice. 

“He’s huge!”

“You noticed.” He snarked, she ignored it.

“Wont everyone be betting on him? How much money could you possibly win when everyone is betting on the same guy?” She asked. She tried not to show her annoyance at the cocky smirk Petyr threw her way.

“Oh, my Sweet girl, my Hound is the underdog in this fight,” he said, nodding over towards the same door the ‘Hound’ came from moments before. “The Mountain is much larger.”

She watched for a few moments before an even larger man entered the room. Cheers erupted for the monster who walked in, he was clearly the favorite. Sansa looked to Petyr again, who still had that cocky smirk on his face.

“What makes you think The Hound will win then, if this Mountain is so much better?” Sansa said, she could tell that her husband was ignoring the mocking way in which she used the fighter’s nick names.

“I didn’t say he was better, Sansa, I said he was bigger. Most people will mistake size for strength-”

“He looks pretty strong to me.”

“-He’s plenty strong, but so is The Hound. There is something else, however, something the Hound has over his brother.”

Sansa watched her husband’s self-satisfied expression, waiting for him to continue.

“Rage, Sweetling. The Hound has a score to settle with his brother, over that disfiguring scar on his face. He doesn’t have much to lose either, which makes him more dangerous than anyone in this room will ever imagine.”

Sansa re examined the two after her husband’s comment. She watched as the huge man known at “The Hound” stared at his brother. The look in his eyes was that of pure hatred. She watched as he ripped his wife beater off, revealing his muscular torso. Sansa tried hard not to react, especially with her husband sitting so close to her, but she couldn’t help but stare. Despite the disfigurement on the man’s face, the Hound was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. It surprised her, more than the scar, men like him didn’t usually grab Sansa’s attention. She had always fallen for pretty boys with money, not built monster men who fight for a living. She could see the smaller scars that littered the man’s body, telling a story of a very difficult life. 

“What did you say his name was again?” She tried to ask nonchalantly, not wanting to raise her husband’s suspicions. 

“The Hound.” 

Sansa nearly rolled her eyes, “what’s his real name?” She let the annoyance slip into her voice, she didn’t like the idea of calling another human being ‘The Hound’.

“Sandor.” She felt Petyr’s eyes on her, “Why do you ask Sweetling?”

“I just want to know the name of the man who is going to win my husband a bunch of money tonight.” She smirked at him, thinking that would be a response he would enjoy. He kissed her, his blood up from all the excitement. She kissed him back, playing the good wife, placing her hand on his thigh while leaning into him. The kiss ended as soon as a bell rang, both looked to the ring to watch the beginning of the fight. 

The fight was intense, and quickly turned gory with blood pouring from head wounds on both men, littering the ring below them. Sansa, however, didn’t look away as the fight continued, she was enraptured watching the two brothers go at it. She flinched when Sandor got hit, his older brother being so much larger than him, she was worried that every blow from him would be Sandor’s last. Sandor surprised her, however, he kept on his feet and used his older brother’s large frame against him, landing more and more hits himself. She felt like this was playing out like one of her stories she read as a child, the underdog defeating his evil brother in a battle to the death. 

It was getting really exciting for Sansa.

She clapped and cheered along with her husband whenever Sandor got the upper hand. She was becoming breathless, with a pink tinting her cheeks as she exclaimed a loud “YES!” When Sandor landed a blow to the side of the mountains face that send the larger man stumbling. Her breath hitched when she locked eyes with the fighter in the ring, he gave her a long look before continuing. She wasn’t sure but could have sworn the large man smirked at her. 

She felt heat pooling between her legs, she knew she was aroused already, watching the massive man fight his heart out in the ring before her, but the look made her shiver. She couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to sleep with Sandor. The man was larger than anyone she had ever seen, she imagined the man taking her from behind, his massive hands gripping her hips as he pounded into her with the same amount of passion and ferocity that he was putting into this fight. She leaned into Petyr, the heat from his body helping to scratch the itch forming inside of her only slightly, but enough to make her want to have more contact with him. He seemed to know what she was thinking (she suspected he was just as aroused from all the excitement) she felt his hand slip onto her thigh and squeeze possessively.

She didn’t look away from the fight, not wanting to miss a moment, but didn’t fight as Petyr’s hand slipped up higher on her thigh, caressing her skin, eliciting a soft moan from her. She could almost feel the smirk on Petyr’s face, but she still didn’t look away. The fight was ramping up, The Mountain was wearing down much to the surprise of everyone in the room, and while he was wearing down, Sandor was revving up, beating on his brother with no sense of mercy. Then, to the shock of all the patrons, the Mountain fell with a heavy thud onto the mat. The bell rang, and the announcer called it.

The Hound was declared the winner. A roaring mixture of cheers and boos echoed through the room. She felt her chin being turned towards Petyr’s with a finger. “See Sweetling.” 

Those two words were all the bragging Petyr needed, she could see by the look in his eyes, it was as if he had fought and won the match himself. She looked back to the ring, she saw that Sandor, unlike the first fighter she saw, left the ring without kicking his brother while he was down. She smiled to herself. 

 

Sansa followed her husband down a hallway that broke off from the main room that the fights were being held. Fights were still going on but since “Cleganebowl” had concluded, Petyr didn’t seem too interested in staying, instead he wanted to collect his money from the bookie and talk to “his dog”. 

She tried to calm herself, walking at her husbands’ side with his arm loosely wrapped around her waist. She was going to meet the monster she witnessed beat his brother down in the ring less than an hour ago. She wondered what he would be like. She hoped that Petyr would take her in to meet the man, she would have to insist on it if he wanted her to wait outside for him. 

They came across a door near the end of the hallway, the sounds of the current fight almost completely faded. Petyr raised his hand and pounded on the grimy door in front of them. It wasn’t a moment before the door swung open to reveal a man with red hair, he looked like he could be a fighter himself, but he wasn’t nearly as impressive as Sandor. She had to give Petyr credit for not wavering in front of the large, intimidating man, instead he informed him that they were there to see Clegane. The redhead’s eyes landed on Sansa, “Is this one for him? He’ll like her…” his Northern accent was strong and instantly recognizable to Sansa. He was probably even further from home than she was. 

“Not quite.” Petyr didn’t sound pleased by the question, but he kept his cool anyway, as he always did in every situation. The redhead, still with his eyes on her, smirked and nodded, moving out of the way for the two of them to enter what looked to be a makeshift locker room. They stepped in and Sansa recoiled at the heavy scent of blood and sweat in the air, she must have made a face, because she heard Petyr chuckling beside her. She was sure he was getting a kick out of forcing her out of her comfort zone. 

Her eyes landed on the back of the fighter who had excited her so much. He was sitting on a bench near the back of the room, facing away from them. 

“Sandor! You’ve got groupies.” The redhead called before winking at Sansa and leaving the room. Only a few random men, Sandor, Petyr and herself were now in the locker room. Sandor turned on the bench before standing up, looking toward herself and her husband, who had pulled away from Sansa and approached the large man. The size of him continued to impress Sansa, but now that she stood only seven or so feet away from him, she really understood how large he was. He was still wearing what he had been in the ring, his shirt missing showing her his muscled chest, covered in a mixture sweat, blood and thick black hair. She heard Petyr congratulate Sandor on his victory and go on to talk about how much money he had made him that evening. It was apparent to Sansa that the two had encountered each other before that night. 

Sandor didn’t seem impressed by her husband, instead his eyes continuously landed on Sansa, making her blush deeper every time. Petyr seemed to notice that he didn’t have Sandor’s full attention, looking back at his young wife who was focusing her attention on Sandor. He cleared his throat, extending his arm towards Sansa and beckoning her forward. She walked toward him, his arm again sliding around her waist. 

“How rude of me. This is Sansa, my wife.” Petyr seemed to put extra emphasis on the word ‘wife’, “Sweetling, this is The Hound.”

Sansa felt herself annoyed at her husband’s use of the dehumanizing nickname right in front of the man, but Sandor didn’t seem fazed. He was still looking down at her, she straightened up and held her hand out for the man, which looked comically small compared to his own when he reached out and took it, shaking it gently. Sansa shivered, the feeling of the calloused, strong hand capturing hers ignited her imagination once again. She wondered how it would feel having both of his large hands exploring her body. She felt the heat between her legs grow, her breath quickening slightly as she stared into his dark eyes. Her own crystal-clear blue eyes began to explore the rest of his face, the right side was handsome with his strong jaw and cheekbones juxtapose with his left which was mangled due to the scarring. Sansa could see at this distance his stump of an ear on his left side as well. 

“Do I frighten you, little bird?” His voice made her jump, her eyes finding his again. She couldn’t find her voice, her small hand still in his. She felt ashamed of herself for staring, hating that he would think that she was put off by his appearance. 

“She’s not used to this type of environment Hound, forgive her.” Petyr’s voice broke the silence, always knowing exactly what to say. She almost resented the man for speaking for her, but she also wasn’t offering her own explanation for her rude behavior. 

“She can speak for herself, can’t she Baelish? Or does this bird not sing?” the gruff voice broke her train of thought once again, causing her to blush even deeper. Feeling embarrassed by the whole thing she forced herself to snap out of it. 

“I’m not frightened of you, Mr. Clegane,” she began, formally, “I simply try to familiarize myself with someone’s face when I meet them.” As Sansa spoke, she heard her Mother talking, the polished woman always knew how to handle any social situation. 

Sandor smirked at her reply. 

“I doubt you’ll forget this face anytime soon, little bird.”

Sansa shivered, agreeing with the man who had finally let her hand go. She wondered how he could possibly have this strong of an effect on her, and with the look that he was giving her, she thought maybe she was having a similar effect on him as well. Petyr took control of the conversation again, bringing up future fights Sandor would be participating in. Though Sansa wasn’t thrilled that her husband’s newest financial venture was human cock fighting, the possibility of seeing Sandor again was exciting. 

Petyr was beginning to say his goodbyes to the fighter, pulling her from her thoughts. She was slightly annoyed that he was still there but knew the chances of her being alone with Sandor were slim to none. Even if she was, she wasn’t the type of girl to cheat on her husband. Even though she knew Petyr wasn’t always faithful to her, she never thought of being anything other than a good wife, that was how she was raised. She also knew crossing Petyr by cheating on him was a dangerous idea, for herself and the poor soul she broke her vows with. 

Though she thought Sandor could handle himself, and the thought of the large man taking her was exciting enough to make her consider it. Even if it was just for a moment. 

She felt Petyr’s arm tighten around her slightly as he began to pull her towards the exit. 

“See you around, Little Bird.” He called, as they were leaving, making her look over her shoulder at the man again, who was grinning wickedly at her. She felt herself smile before looking away, letting Petyr guide her out of the room. He seemed slightly off, and she wondered if he was able to pick up on Sansa’s thoughts. 

And considering the thoughts she was having, she really hoped he had not. 

 

Petyr was quieter than normal on the drive home, especially after the excitement of the night.

It began to worry her. 

She looked over at him and saw his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. She bit her lip and looked at his face, hoping the man wasn’t angry with her. He was never violent with her when he was angry, but that didn’t make her any less worried. Petyr was a master wordsmith, a tongue lashing from him sometimes hurt worse than if he had just hit her. She looked at the road again, thinking of ways to side step an argument.

Not that she had done anything wrong. Making eyes at someone she wouldn’t have even met had it not been for her husband was not a crime. And she always looked the other way when he was overly affectionate with one of his female employees, hell, she was pretty sure he was fucking Miranda Royce, the young socialite whose father invested heavily into Petyr’s various ventures, and one of her closest ‘friends’.

Sure, that was probably just more moves in Petyr’s game, another rung on the ladder to the top, but still. He didn’t have any right to be jealous. 

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t. 

Sansa forced herself to relax, knowing that she would have to take her husband’s mind from the situation that night. She slipped her hand onto his thigh, slowly running her manicured nails up and down the material of his trousers. He didn’t react too much, only relaxing slightly under her touch.

“Yes, Sweetling?” his voice was aloof, but Sansa could hear the underlining tension there.

She didn’t answer, instead she took her seatbelt off, sliding close to the center console that separated the driver and passenger set. She leaned over the console, her hand now in her husband’s lap. She squeezed him through his trousers, enjoying the sound of the older man sighing as she did. She leaned in and began to kiss Petyr’s neck as he drove, teasing and rubbing him as she did. 

“Did tonight’s events excite you, Sansa?” he asked, his voice becoming breathy as she continued to rub his now hardening cock. She nodded into his neck, her lips finding the shell of his ear before biting hard enough to illicit a small “ah” from Petyr. “I didn’t know you were attracted to common thugs, Sweetling.” 

Sansa didn’t let the comment stop her, she wasn’t about to let Petyr go down that road. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Petyr.” she whispered into his ear, now fully rubbing him through his trousers, his cock hard in her hand. His breath hitched as she continued to kiss and bite his neck. Her husband began to speed up, intending to get home as soon as he possibly could. She smiled, happy that she still had this kind of effect on the older man.

Soon they were pulling up outside of their building, her door was opened by the valet who took her hand as she exited the vehicle. Petyr got out of the car, walking around the front. He tossed the keys to the valet, not saying a word to him, before guiding his wife into the building. She found herself being pushed against the elevator wall as it began the climb to their penthouse. He kissed her hard which made her moan into his mouth. She closed her eyes tightly as she felt one of his hands circle her body, pulling her close to him, the other hand reaching down to her thigh. He ran his hand up her dress, cupping one creamy ass cheek, and squeezing playfully. 

Her mind wandered to Sandor, thinking about the differences between the fighter’s rough, large hands compared to her husband’s smooth, well-manicured ones. She imagined herself hoisted up by the large man, her legs wrapped around his huge frame as he held her like doll in his arms. She moaned at the thought, making her husband smirk into the kiss. 

The elevator door opened, the usual ‘ding’ sound alerting them to the fact that they had arrived. It wasn’t long before the two of them were in the penthouse, kissing and stumbling their way to the bedroom. Sansa couldn’t remember if they had closed the door or not, she didn’t even know if anyone else was there. 

They made their way to the large room that had a killer view of The Vale, the city lights giving them both enough light to see each other as they began to strip one another. Petyr walked her back against the bed once she was stripped of her dress, she still wore her heels. She felt the soft material of their duvet on her skin as Petyr guided her back onto the bed, still kissing and touching her. Sansa felt Petyr’s weight rest on top of her, her arms now circling his shoulders as his kisses start to make their way from her lips towards her neck and shoulders. 

Sansa let a small, breathy moan escape her lips, moving her hips up to grind against Petyr’s, his hard cock now straining against his trousers. She wondered if Sandor would take his time with her like Petyr always did. She had a hard time imagining that, she thought. She imagined Sandor moving her around the bed like a rag doll, positioning her how he wanted before taking her with reckless abandon. She bit her lip thinking about it as Petyr slowly kissed his way towards her bare, erect nipples. She looked down at the man, his salt and pepper hair bobbing as he gradually made his way from one nipple to the other, teasing his wife as he always did. 

She usually didn’t mind this treatment, Petyr was a very good lover (considering the number of brothels the man owned, that fact never really surprised her) but her mind kept wondering towards Sandor.

Sandor was not a gentle man, he probably wasn’t a gentle lover either. 

She bit her lip, the feeling of Petyr’s lips and tongue on her breast making the heat in her body rise. She bucked her hips into his again, causing her husband to chuckle against her skin, “Patience, Sweetling.” He chastised, continuing his treatment. 

“Petyr?” His name left his mouth before she could stop herself. He looked up at her, one eyebrow raising questioningly. 

“Sansa?” His voice was soft, as if he were suddenly feeling less secure. Sansa saw this in her husband occasionally, when they were alone, as if he expected her to reject him the way her mother had years and years ago. She smiled at him, wanting to ease that feeling inside of him. 

“I want to try something.” 

Petyr seemed surprised, Sansa was very much a people pleaser in bed, going along with whatever her husband wanted, never really asking for anything. 

Until now. 

“Anything Sansa.” He replied, she could feel his excitement growing. She smirked, happy for that reaction. She propped herself up on her elbows, causing Petyr to raise himself with her. He brought his knees on either side of her hips, leaned forward onto his knuckles over the young redhead. He leaned forward and captured her lips again, she kissed him back, her own excitement growing. “Tell me Sweetling,” he breathed out as he pulled away from the kiss, “what do you want?”

Sansa smiled at him, looking down at his hard cock straining against his clothes. “I want you to take me…” she said, nervousness creeping into her voice. She saw a smirk forming on her husband’s face.

“I always take you, Sweetling.” He said, one hand moving from the bed to circle around the base of her neck, his fingers in her hair. He kissed her again. 

“I want-you-to take-me roughly-tonight” she gasped out between kisses, which got Petyr’s attention, he pulled away from her lips, leaving only a couple of inches between them. 

“Roughly?” he asked, obviously not expecting that answer from the usually soft and delicate woman he married. 

She felt her cheeks burn, but she didn’t back down, nodding she continued, “Tonight got me thinking about it…” not wanting Petyr to think that she was referring to Sandor specifically, she clarified, “watching those people fight each other, so powerful…” she searched Petyr’s eyes, trying to gauge a reaction from the man. 

He chuckled, looking at her darkly, “I knew you would like it, Sweet girl.” She felt a sharp pain at the base of her head, Petyr had taken a bunch of her hair and pulled, exposing her neck to him. He moved his lips to her ear, “Do you want me to fuck you hard tonight, Princess?” he whispered, making her shudder.

She nodded as well as she could with her hair still in her husband iron grip, “Please, use me Petyr.” 

She didn’t have to ask him twice. He let go of her hair, instead placing his hand around her throat and pushed her into he mattress below. He was still straddling her which gave him the leverage he needed to overpower her. He hovered above her, inches from her face, “Do you want to me treat you like a little whore, Sansa?” 

“Yes!” she whispered, excitement building up inside of her more quickly now, she squeezed her legs together, trying to alleviate the ache there. 

“I want to hear you say it.” He kissed her again, “Tell me what you want Sweetling.” 

“I want you to treat me like your whore Petyr, like your plaything.” She whispered, the words tumbling out of her mouth, embarrassing her, but exciting her at the same time. Petyr sat up away from her, pulling his hand away from her neck. He stood at the end of the bed, grabbed her ankles and pulled causing Sansa to yelp in surprise. He pulled her to the end of the bed before grabbing her upper arm, roughly leading her onto her knees on the floor in front of him. She looked up at him in surprise, before her eyes landed on belt in front of her face. She felt his fingers in her hair again. Usually the first thing they did would be oral, from Petyr. He would eat her out for an hour before she begged him to stop. The idea of him forcing his cock down her throat first thing made Sansa shiver. 

She thought of Sandor, he wouldn’t mess around either. He would fuck her face first, establish dominance. She closed her eyes and thought about sitting at the huge man’s feet, his rough hands on her head, calling her “Little Bird”. 

“Come one Sweetling, don’t make me force you.” Petyr threatened which made Sansa bite her lip. She looked up at him, feeling brave. 

“Force me, Petyr.” She whispered, the words barely audible, Petyr understood. The look he gave her would have scared her in any other context. She knew she was playing a dangerous game. 

She felt the pain on her scalp again as one of Petyr’s hands grabbed hold of her hair, forcing her face closer to his crotch, his other hand made quick work of his belt and fly. He pulled himself out in front of Sansa, who was eager to experience her husband in a way she never had before. She felt his hard cock on her soft lips, he wasn’t a huge guy, but he was above average.

“Open your mouth Sweetling.” His grip on her hair tightening, he tilted her head to give her the best angle. She complied, opening her mouth, which was quickly filled with his cock. 

She felt the hard, fleshy member intrude her mouth, sliding across her tongue and touching the back of her throat. She jumped, feeling herself gag slightly on him. He held her in place, keeping her from moving away from him. He pulled himself out of her mouth before pushing inside again, working slowly at first, letting her get used to the lack of control. She usually had complete agency when giving her husband head. She never had someone use her like this. 

It wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted it rougher. She closed her mouth only slightly, but enough to let her teeth graze the man’s sensitive flesh. She heard him cry out at the same time he jerked her away from him, looking down at her in shock. 

She smirked up at him. He shook his head at her.

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, sweet girl.” He warned her but didn’t give her a chance to reply before striking her across the face. She yelped in pain, tears prickling her eyes. He used his free hand to grip her jaw tightly, he leaned down to face her. “I know what you’re doing, Sweetling, I hope you’re ready.” He whispered to her before standing up straight again, he pinched her jaw, forcing her to open her mouth again. “If I feel teeth again, you will not walk for a week. Do you understand?”

Sansa shivered, she had never heard Petyr outright threaten her before now. She nodded up at him, opening her mouth obediently. She felt him fill her mouth again, this time not giving her anytime time to get used to the feeling before beginning to fuck her. He held her head still as he thrust in and out of her mouth, using her like a masturbator. She felt tears at her eyes again, threatening to spill as he gagged her. She closed her eyes tight, feeling the tears spilling over. 

She thought of Sandor, she imagined his hand gripping her hair and fucking her mouth like she was made for it. She moaned, her cunt dripping wet now as Petyr roughly took her. She gagged, panicking as he pushed himself as deep as he could go, the tip of his cock firmly planted in her throat. Her hands found his thighs, trying to push him off her but he held strong. She couldn’t breathe, tears continued to stream down her face as she gagged and choked on his cock.

She wondered how large Sandor’s cock was. Would it fit? Would he choke her fucking her throat? She moaned at the thought, letting Petyr use her as she fantasied about the other man. 

After what felt like forever, he finally pulled out of her mouth completely. He tilted her head to look up at him, tears coating her cheeks, saliva dripping from her plump lips, down her chin and neck. She opened her eyes and saw her husband looking down at her with a wicked smile. 

“Such a good little fuck toy.” 

Sansa shuddered. She wondered momentarily if this is was how he fucked other women, he seemed confident in the role. Maybe he only treated her differently because she was Cat’s daughter. 

His Cat. 

She didn’t have too long to ponder that before he pulled her onto her feet by her hair. She made a small noise of surprise as he threw her down onto the bed, stomach first. She tried to straighten up, but he held her down, one hand finding her neck, gripping her tightly, causing her to whimper in pain. He held her still before delivering a series of hard smacks to her backside. She cried out with each, feeling the sting intensify with each blow, before she felt Petyr’s hand cease, running his ringed fingers over her reddened ass. “Such a pretty little whore.”

She whimpered in reply, a mixture of fear and excitement running through her. She imagined Sandor behind her, ready to fuck her with his monster cock. She heard his voice in her head, calling her a pretty little whore. She would have felt guilty for imagining another man while fucking her husband, but she was delirious with lust. She wanted him inside of her. 

“Please.” She whimpered out. She cried out as Petyr spanked her hard again. She was shaking slightly, “Please fuck me!”

The chuckle she heard from her husband, again, would have scared her if she wasn’t blinded by the need to feel a cock inside of her. She felt him use a foot to nudge her legs apart, opening her up for him. Being forced over the bed, bent at the hip, with her legs straight (while she was still wearing heels) was taking a toll on her thighs. Sweat beaded up on her forehead, but Petyr held her still. 

She felt his cock at her entrance, threatening her, teasing her before he pushed in completely, in one stroke. She cried out, trying to close her legs again. He held her hip with his free hand in response. She was sure she was would have bruises where his fingers dug into her skin in the morning. The thought of it excited her more. 

She clenched down on his cock, fantasizing about Sandor. She could more easily imagine him in this position. She closed her eyes tightly, thinking about the monster of a man as Petyr began to pound into her. With each push his cock filled her up, making her moan with every thrust. She felt her head pulled back as Petyr grabbed hold of her hair, his other hand snaking around her throat, forcefully arching her backward, holding her head against his. She felt as if he let go of her, she was going to collapse, having no control of her own body anymore as he husband fucked her furiously against the bed. Her eyes were closed, her thoughts going in between the man behind her and Sandor. The pain she felt from the position Petyr put her in was both agonizing and pleasurable.

“I wish I would have known like to be fucked like this, Sweetling.” Petyr panted from behind her, not letting up as he fucked her.

Sansa whined, the pressure Petyr’s hand was putting on her neck made each noise even more difficult than the last. 

She felt herself getting closer to her orgasm, her legs shaking as Petyr picked up his pace. He let go of her neck and hair, making her drop to the bed below her with a soft thump. He grabbed both of her hips with his hands, allowing more leverage and he pounded into her harder, his balls hitting her clit every time he pounded into her. 

She cried out, slipping over the edge when he picked up his pace, he pulled her hips into his even harder as the strongest orgasm she ever had ripped through her body. She shook hard, her body convulsing as she tightened around his cock. She felt the man behind her tense up, spilling inside of her as he joined her orgasm. 

She felt him collapse over her, laying on top of her back, coming down from his orgasm. Sansa let out a long sigh, still feeling shaky. She was slowly coming out of her fantasy of Sandor, as the much smaller man laying on top of her began to kiss the side of her face lovingly. 

The game was over. 

“Sweetling.” He breathed out, still kissing her shoulders, neck and face, “such a good girl.” 

She smiled, looking at her husband from over her shoulder. He kissed her lips, which she responded to. 

The two of them slowly made their way up the bed, neither had enough energy to shower, they would save that for the morning. Sansa kicked off her heels, dropping them on the floor on her side of the bed, her husband did the same with his own shoes and trousers. Petyr pulled the duvet and sheets down, allowing his sore wife to crawl in. He joined her, pulling her close to him, spooning her. 

The two laid silently, getting closer and closer to sleep before she looked at her husband again from over her shoulder. His eyes were closed but he was still awake. 

“Petyr?” she whispered. He smiled in response.

“Yes Sweetling?” he replied, his eyes remaining closed. 

“When is the next dogfight?”


End file.
